In this view Don was not mistaken; and presently a mechanic rolled out of one of the hangars a small machine, slender of fuselage and beautiful in its proportions. On the tapering body was painted an Indian’s head similar to the one on Lieutenant Thaw’s machine.
“As you see, all of the planes are numbered,” remarked the captain, “and, in addition, each of the pilots has some special mark on the fuselage to distinguish his from the others.”
“Yes, Monsieur le Capitaine,” said Don, with a grin of delight.
“This machine has a motor of two hundred horse power and can travel at a speed of about one hundred and forty miles an hour,” continued the commander. “And at times you will need it all,” he added, dryly. “When may you go up? This afternoon. I will detail Sergeant Reynolds to accompany you in his plane. The German lines must not be crossed, under any consideration, for several days at least.”
“The German lines must not be crossed”
“Oh!” murmured Don.
This was a great disappointment to the boy; for he possessed that daring which youth is prone to indulge—a daring which may often lead to disaster, and, as often, be a means to safety.
The captain, after introducing him to the mechanic who was to look after the Nieuport, walked away.
The next half hour was one of unalloyed delight to Don Hale. He spent it in examining the plane, the various nickel plated instruments with which the cockpit was furnished and the Vickers gun, with its belts of cartridges.